


Nightshift

by Chromi



Series: Chromi's Kinktober 2020 [6]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Bathroom, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27313567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromi/pseuds/Chromi
Summary: "He missed him. That was the crux of all his ill feelings right now, the reason behind his tantrum thrown at the furniture he stubbed his toe on earlier. Deuce, his junior doctor boyfriend of three months now, wouldn't be home until sometime the next morning, ashen-faced and looking ill, all pallid and morose as he so often was off the back of these shifts. It was a crime, Ace was sure, to be working the young doctors this hard, but Deuce, to give him credit where credit was well and truly due, barely ever complained anymore."Day 6: phone sex + masturbation
Relationships: Masked Deuce/Portgas D. Ace
Series: Chromi's Kinktober 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948690
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	Nightshift

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back! I started this on the 19th and somehow have taken until today to finish it. It was _supposed_ to be around 2k long. I don't know why I even try to keep to word counts anymore :))
> 
> I'll read through and edit again tomorrow; its quite late for me here, but I wanted to post this before it clicked over to November;;;

The more Deuce worked these damn night shifts, the more Ace hated them. Relentless, they were, and intrusive into their relationship for how they cut deep into intimacy and rendered the couple lonely throughout their opposing shift patterns. Had Ace wanted to date through texts and phone calls, he would have opted for Internet dating that never led further than the promise of coffee back at his apartment.

He missed him. That was the crux of all his ill feelings right now, the reason behind his tantrum thrown at the furniture he stubbed his toe on earlier. Deuce, his junior doctor boyfriend of three months now, wouldn't be home until sometime the next morning, ashen-faced and looking ill, all pallid and morose as he so often was off the back of these shifts. It was a crime, Ace was sure, to be working the young doctors this hard, but Deuce, to give him credit where credit was well and truly due, barely ever complained anymore.

So Ace did that for him instead.

Selfish reasons aside, Ace was worried about his partner. The proposed 40 hour working week frequently turned into anything up to 70 hours, seeing Deuce at the hospital for far more time than Ace got him to himself. Days off were sacred, and getting two off in a row were almost legendary at this point. And, as Ace curled up on his couch with a blanket pulled up to his chin, the ache in his stomach that seemed keen on creeping into his life whenever Deuce spent the night tending to the sick and injured pained him, serving to point out that Ace wouldn't be sleeping soundly tonight, either.

Contact was minimal when Deuce was on shift – which, obviously, Ace didn't begrudge of him. He barely had time to eat or sit down when there, often letting himself into Ace's apartment to sheepishly slip his homemade lunch back into the fridge, untouched, only for it to be taken in again the following day, the cycle repeated. He'd lost weight as a side-effect of his job’s demands, high cheekbones standing prominent below blue eyes that dulled from the constant exhaustion.

And yet through all of this – despite often sleeping until midday on his precious days off, dead to the world (and to the fire alarm when Ace burned a well-intended cooked lunch) – Deuce was, without a doubt, the best boyfriend Ace had ever had. Attentive, loving, and kind, Deuce made Ace feel like life was _exciting_ again, something to be explored and witnessed rather than endured. Deuce brought a kind of warmth into Ace's world that he hadn't known he'd needed before their chance meeting on the surgical ward some months ago, and, according to Deuce, Ace filled his life in exactly the same way.

It wasn't _his_ fault that the hospital played third wheel to their relationship, and, as Deuce kept reminding both himself and Ace in a mantra that was starting to become more like an extract from holy text at this point, it wasn't going to last forever. The first two years were the most difficult – it would soon be over, and when Deuce passed his junior years, the burden and constant feeling of being wrong-footed no matter what he did would lessen.

It would all be worth it, and would all be okay in the end. Ace believed him, taking it upon himself to keep reminding him of this when the sleep deprivation and exhaustion took hold, forcing Deuce to tears wept to Ace's shoulder. One day not too far from now it would be worth it, and Deuce's professional life would quieten down to something more bearable.

But until then, Ace would continue to miss Deuce with all the enormity of one who was missing a vital organ, unable to breathe alone and unsupported, whiling away evenings like this not in the arms of the man he loved, but wrapped up in the blanket that smelled of him.

Knowing that the chances of Deuce getting a moment to himself during a Saturday night were slim at best, Ace was therefore quite rightfully shocked the moment his phone lit up into a call, bearing Deuce's name. Smiling at the way his heart skipped a beat and stomach fluttered with butterflies, he accepted the call and sighed a breathless, "you should spend your break eating your dinner, not calling me, babe," by way of greeting.

"Lovely to hear your voice too, my beloved," Deuce huffed sarcastically, though it sounded distinctly muffled as if spoken into or through something, “glad to hear you’re missing me, too.”

Ace snorted, a thrill of affection running down his spine at the sound of Deuce’s voice. “Although it sounds like you already _are_ eating," he smiled, relaxing back into the plush red cushions, pulling Deuce's blanket tighter around him like a comforting hug. “That’s good. What’ve you got?”

“The sandwiches you made for me yesterday,” Deuce replied thickly, projecting the happy image of himself with his cheeks bulging in Ace’s mind. “No, wait, _was_ it yesterday? Or the day before?”

“The day before,” Ace confirmed, trying not to let the flicker of sadness that arose in his chest permeate his voice, stamping it down. “Aren’t they kinda stale by now?”

Three days old; succeeding on their third attempt at being consumed. Fulfilling their job after two preceding days of sitting in the fridge of the doctors’ mess room up on the top floor of the wards building, Deuce’s name scrawled in Ace’s script on a note taped to the top of the plastic box they had called home. A three-day-old life spent being ferried between the hospital and Ace’s apartment where Deuce slept during the day, finding comfort among Ace’s sheets and pillows more so than in his rented room, despite Ace being at work.

Two shifts where Deuce hadn’t eaten a thing for nearly 12 hours outside of an apple the first night, a muffin the next. Forever rushing. Forever tired. Forever everyone else’s savior and never his own.

Ace’s heart hurt thinking about it, of the demand put onto his boyfriend, and the _normality_ of it, yet he focused on the conversation as best he could instead, letting out a long, measured breath, willing composure.

All this over the mention of a damn sandwich.

“Nope, they’re great.” Well, at least Deuce sounded pleased enough with his three-day-old sandwiches, in any case. It was also kind of endearing that he had opted for them instead of getting something far more appetizing from the hospital canteen… that was, until Ace glanced at the clock on the wall, noting how it was past 10, meaning the canteen had shut hours ago. “A patient who was recently discharged sent us a huge box of cookies today, so I’ve been working my way through those, too.”

“Glad to hear your healthy eating plan’s going well,” Ace sighed, smile broadening as he heard Deuce groan, bored of his nagging, “have you ever heard of a vegetable, by any chance? Would you like me to introduce you to some? There’re these long crunchy orange ones called _carrots_ , and there’re teeny tiny little green _peas_ , and these green things called _broccoli_ that look like little trees. I think you’d get on really well with them, Deu, I’m serious.”

“Funny,” Deuce said flatly, “real funny. Excuse me while I politely decline your offer of raw veg in favor of white chocolate chip cookies, Ace, as tempting as you’re making them sound.”

“I’ll make you a packed lunch that’s _bursting_ with veggies for tomorrow, how about that?” Ace beamed, cradling the phone closer to his ear, his throat constricting most strangely at the suggestion of making his boyfriend’s meal. “A nice big box of every vegetable I can find, lovingly chopped and ready to pick at through the night. You need nutrition, babe, to keep you going on these insane shifts, and you’re not going to find that in cookies.”

Deuce didn’t answer immediately, laughing lightly at the vague threat. There were incredible amounts of comfort to be found in his tone, Ace noted on sinking even deeper into his blanket, pulling it up to his eyes and breathing in Deuce’s scent that still lingered. For Deuce to call, for Deuce to not sound stressed and harassed as he usually did when he found a pocket of seconds to spare for Ace during the mad rush… it all set Ace at ease, yet also invited in something that made his heart physically ache in his chest.

That laugh belonged back here with him, wrapped up in this blanket. The chiding sigh that followed, whining about how Deuce promised to try to eat better for his own damn sake, didn’t belong voiced in the break room above the wards so many miles away from home.

 _Not long to go, now_ , Ace reminded himself yet again, eyes drifting closed as he hummed along to Deuce narrating a story about one of the other junior doctors. _Not long to go until he isn’t the bottom of the pyramid, shouldering the expectations of everyone senior to him. Three more months until the first year is done._

_Then another year._

Ace’s eyes flew upon, staring unseeing at the silver wall clock, suddenly struggling to swallow around the lump in his throat.

“Deuce,” his voice carried the barest tremble as he murmured into his phone, interrupting a meandering tale of a lost set of patient notes, “I miss you.”

He didn’t really know what he hoped to achieve by confessing this, yet his reward for doing so was ringing silence. What did he hope would happen? That Deuce would ditch work without a second’s thought and come running home to Ace’s waiting arms? Or perhaps that he would resign there on the spot, refuse to complete his shift, and thus ensure inadequate care to everyone depending on him?

What a selfish thing to say right now. What a self-centered, greedy thing to lay onto Deuce. The shame began to creep in like a trickle of water breaching a seal, dripping to pool in the pit of Ace’s stomach, curdling into something nauseating.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered almost immediately, pinching the bridge of his nose over eyes screwed shut, “that wasn’t necessary. I’m not looking to make you feel guilty; I know it can’t be helped. It’s not like you asked to be put on nights this week, or any week; but hey, on the bright side, tomorrow’s the last one for now, and then you’ll be back on—”

“Ace.”

Ace shut up instantly, silenced by the soft melancholy thick in Deuce’s voice. He took pause, breathing in long, slow, and shaky, knowing how sad Deuce usually became when Ace showed any sign of dislike for his hours and shifts, _knowing_ that he thought himself a poor excuse of a partner because of it, despite how Ace had gone into this relationship fully aware of the occupational hazards that accompanied dating a doctor.

So he braced himself for the apologies. For the repetition that this wouldn’t last forever, no matter how it felt right now. For Deuce to become somewhat quiet and withdrawn until loved fully and wholly under sheets and Ace both, held to him, warmed by his assertions of _always_ and _I love you._

Instead, what Ace was met with was Deuce inhaling deep before sighing a quiet, yet firm, “I miss you, too.”

Taken aback, touched by Deuce’s honesty, Ace whispered, “you do?”

A rumbled hum of confirmation preceded the hushed promise of, “like you wouldn’t believe.” He sighed again, and in Ace’s mind, he was running a hand through his pale hair, reclining back in the worn, tired couch in the doctors’ mess room. “It’s like a physical injury right in my heart,” Deuce continued, murmuring like he didn’t want to be overheard pouring his heart into his phone. “I miss you every moment I’m here. Every second I’m driving here, too. The minute I leave you each day is the minute I start to die a little on the inside.”

The blanket was tugged up and over Ace’s head at Deuce’s dramatically romantic words, hiding in his cocoon of Deuce’s scent thick around him. In it, he felt _safe_. Loved. Held.

“Deuce,” Ace breathed, leaning into the rapidly warming phone against his cheek, “baby, it’s the same for me too. It’s insane. It’s like something inside of me’s missing whenever you’re away.” He paused, simply listening to Deuce sniff and sigh like he was fighting back tears on the other end of the line, yet sincerely hoping that wasn’t the case. “Is this normal?” Ace asked in a hushed rush. “Is it normal to miss your boyfriend like this?”

“I think so,” Deuce replied, injecting comfort down into Ace’s soul, “given how little we’ve seen of each other this week, I think it’s pretty normal to feel…”

“Lost?”

Deuce hummed in agreement, and Ace could hear him moving as if he were standing. “I find myself missing the smallest, most insignificant things about you the most,” he confessed.

“Like what?” Ace found himself asking without thought, daring to allow himself to forget, for just a moment, that Deuce was at work, and not back in his room at his shared house. That maybe, to sate the yearning they both revealed themselves to have been holding onto, Deuce might elaborate into something impossibly romantic, paving the way for Ace to do exactly the same.

“Like your hair,” Deuce said, “the feeling of it when you let me brush it, I mean – how thick it is, and how seems to get everywhere. Or the way you eat like it’s your last meal, always… until we eat out in public, and suddenly you find your manners.”

Ace snorted, unable to disagree.

“The way you move,” Deuce continued, tone dropping in pitch just slightly, and below that, Ace could hear movement as though Deuce had set down a cup or a glass. “The way your arms swing when walking, and how your knee makes that awful pop when you first get up in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Ace mumbled, his smile clear in his voice, “I should probably get that checked, shouldn’t I?” When Deuce only huffed a small laugh of agreement, Ace muttered a quick, “what else?” before Deuce could, inevitably, get embarrassed about what he was admitting out loud. There was no way for Ace to tell whether Deuce was alone, or if there was a pile of other junior doctors lounging around in the room with him, none interested in each other until someone in their midst decided to start spouting adoration to his partner over the phone.

But Deuce’s next reply – the intonation of his voice; the breathy upturn that wove into his words – was confirmation enough that he was, in fact, very much alone for a change.

“I miss your hands,” he said softly, almost tenderly. “I love your hands.”

“My hands?” Ace echoed; there was something in Deuce’s voice that made him flush, heart noticeably picking up in pace. “Just my hands on their own, not doing anything?”

“No, I mean—” Deuce paused, and Ace could imagine him casting an overt glance over his shoulder into the doctors’ mess room, the place only a dim memory from the single time Ace had visited. “Your hands in mine,” Deuce whispered, sounding closer now, somehow, “the feeling of your hands. They’re so warm, Ace, wherever you touch.”

There was something deliberate in Deuce’s choice of words.

He almost didn’t dare say what came to mind, yet as far as he could tell, Deuce was practically inviting him to go down a route that Ace would have never predicted he could even contemplate while on the job.

“And where else,” he murmured, pulling the blanket back down off over his head, instead fisting it in tight under his chin, “would you like me to put my hands, Deu, other than in yours?”

The hesitation wasn’t missed; the slight pinprick of sound belying Deuce swallowing thickly was noted, kept, remembered.

“Is there anywhere else in particular you miss having them?” Ace asked as innocently as he could manage, drawing his knees in tighter to himself, the blanket pressed up to his nose.

“I…” Deuce paused again. “Everywhere,” he said in a low voice, “I want them— I miss them everywhere. All over.”

So did he.

 _So did he_.

“I wanna touch you right now,” Ace admitted easily, for _he_ wasn’t in danger of being discovered narrating embarrassing truths out loud while on the job, “in all the places you’re longing for.”

Silence reverberated. Great, rolling silence, hanging thick like smoke.

Then, whispered so faintly that Ace had to strain to hear it—

“It’s been so long since we last had the chance to… you know…”

“Too long,” Ace agreed earnestly, and with this came an almost welcomed flush of arousal strong enough to nearly rid him of the loneliness.

He couldn’t remember exactly how long it had been now – two weeks? Maybe more? The exact number of days was insignificant, unimportant in the face of just how much Ace _missed_ it. The slow, gentle sessions where love was made and bodies mapped, learned and relearned and remembered in full. The fast; the desperate; the neediness that broke through the tender touches of lips to heart to end the night in sweaty bliss, sated in heart, mind, body, soul. How easy it was, always, to be led astray by little more than that certain _look_ from Deuce over dinner, or mid-conversation— the flutter of lashes on looking up through them, expression soft, eyes glittering with silent demand.

Falling for Deuce’s wants and whims was fun and easy, Ace forever willingly led by the hand – by lips to his own – to the bedroom, couch, shower…

“What would you want to do right now, if you could?” Ace dared to ask, feeling himself heat up, his chest tighten with something sweeter than the terrifying inclination to cry at the sound of Deuce’s voice and little more. “If you were here – if we were sat right here on the couch together – what would you want to do?”

A gasp, followed by a bark of a cough, made Ace grin against the phone.

“You know I can’t answer that here,” Deuce barely whispered, “sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned—”

“I think I’d have you on your knees,” Ace cut in with that deliberately raw edge to his tone he knew Deuce loved, squeezing his knees together in a dismal attempt at keeping himself from beginning to respond like some desperate teenager. When Deuce’s breath hitched on the other end of the line, Ace’s whole world threatened to implode. “Yeah, I’d have you on your knees, on my bed, pulling yourself apart to invite me in to—”

Deuce sounded like he’d just choked on his drink.

“Don’t,” he spluttered around another cough, terror obvious, “don’t say— don’t say things like that, not when I can’t— when I’m at work.”

 _When I can’t happily fulfil your fantasy right this second,_ Ace imagined him to mean.

Deuce, giver of his whole self into all that he loved and all that he did, no half measures drawn. Should Ace want something to happen – a kink, a position, a switch in who took pleasure and who lavished reverence – Deuce would make it his mission to see it through.

Giving. Giving. Giving through selfless, endless love that knew no form outside of absolution. In everything; for everything. All and over into beyond what could be healthy, regardless of what his own heart wanted. All and more, Deuce gave.

Ah, god, he missed him so much.

“You’re alone, aren’t you?” Ace murmured, his skin almost searing with the ache for Deuce’s touch. This was stupid, he _knew_ that, but the little hum of confirmation he gained from Deuce was enough to put a stop to any doubt he had. “So let me tell you just how much I’m missing you,” he almost begged, breathing in through the blanket, head spinning, eyes sliding closed, “how I’d love you if you were here with me right now.”

“I can’t,” Deuce sounded strained, like to deny Ace of this was to inflict physical pain on himself, “that’s so inappropriate.”

“There’s nothing inappropriate about loving you, Deuce.”

Silence met him once again, charged full of anticipation on both ends of the line, neither daring to speak. Tense seconds slid past, Ace counting each of them on the silver clock, transfixed, almost mesmerized by the gentle _tick, tick, tick_ in tandem with his heartbeat thrumming in his ears as he waited.

Finally, Deuce’s terse murmur of, “well, no, I guess not,” prompted Ace into speech again.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he breathed, caught up in this to an extent he would have laughed at just ten minutes ago, the idea of verbally lavishing love onto Deuce one that had never cropped up before, surprisingly, “if you’re worried you’re gonna get caught, don’t feel you have to say a thing. Just listen to me and imagine what I say, okay?” When Deuce didn’t respond immediately, the first hint of worry intervened through the fiery haze of utmost longing, stifling Ace’s urgent need somewhat. “Or not,” he said quickly, “I guess it’s not really the setting for getting hard and needy, is it? Not when you could get paged any second, or—”

“No,” Deuce cut in quietly, silencing Ace without hesitation, “that’d be fine, I guess… If I don’t have to say anything…” He sighed through his nose, as far as Ace could tell, assumedly checking around himself yet again to ensure he was totally alone. “Tell me,” he muttered, a definite streak of heat flashing through his voice again, “please. I miss it. I miss _you_ so much I just wanna— I dunno— quit all of this and start over as a receptionist or something.”

“You’d make a sexy receptionist,” Ace said deadly seriously, grinning at Deuce’s loud snort of laughter.

“Don’t tempt me.”

Settling deeper down into the cushions and pale blue blanket both, Ace almost didn't feel ashamed to be slipping a hand between his thighs, palming at his half-hard cock through his pajama pants. With a deep, rolling sigh into the hold of bliss, he cleared his throat to begin verbally addressing a need that neither should have permitted to attending to at this moment.

"Where should I start?" He purred, a teasing hint of a growl edging in. "Are you still fully dressed in this, or are you already on the bed? How do I start loving you, babe?"

He'd already broken Deuce's condition of denying him speech, but as far as Ace was concerned, this was a matter that needed confirmation.

Deuce hesitated for a moment before murmuring a somewhat deliberately vague, "the first one. Start from the beginning."

"Good choice," Ace praised, thoroughly ready, feeling himself responding under the thin material to the thought alone. "Now, close your eyes and listen to me."

He took a deep, steadying breath in time with giving in to the ache building between his thighs, even if he couldn't sate the yearning in his heart. It wasn't quite what he – or Deuce – wanted, but it was _enough_. Nothing too mindlessly thirsty; nothing that deviated away from what _really_ mattered, what they were _really_ craving. Ace was determined to keep this as loving as possible for his boyfriend, knowing his needs and missing them as much as he missed every other part of Deuce.

"I'd start by kissing you," Ace began, fingers slipping under the waistband of his pants, wrapping warm around his erection, "not fast and needy, but slowly. You'd move with me like you always do, kissing me back nice and gently, your tongue brushing to mine when I deepen the kiss. Ahh," he sighed a touch dramatically, tightening his grip around himself as he imagined it in perfect, vivid clarity, "you feel so good, Deu. I love kissing you like this; I make you whimper as I tuck my hands behind your neck, pulling you in, exploring you.

"Then, as we kiss, keeping that same slow pace, my hands travel down over your shoulders, over your chest, stroking down to your belly button." He paused, taking a couple of heartbeats to simply listen to Deuce breathing on the other end of the line. "Can you feel my hands on you?" Ace asked, deliberately sultry. "Can you feel me start to unbutton your shirt, one at a time?"

Deuce swallowed, the sound almost inaudible over the phone, yet Ace caught it regardless, satisfied. "Yeah," he breathed, "I can."

"You're feelin' so good right now," Ace sighed, lightly thumbing over the head of his cock at the sound of Deuce's voice, “so good, I want to spend hours just kissing you, touching you…” Keeping the phone in place by pressing his cheek to the back of the couch and pinning it there, Ace ran a fingertip along his own lower lip, “Your back hits the wall I walk you up against; you moan, grabbing for me, right as I get the last of your buttons popped open, and—" He shivered, groan exaggerated for Deuce's benefit, "Deuce, _Deuce_ , I just wanna touch you all over, oh my god – you're so gorgeous, so _hot._ "

"I'm not," Deuce started in automatic protest, but Ace wasn't having any of that nagging self-doubt of Deuce's tonight. Normally loved into respite, tonight there wasn't time to convince him of anything other than the undeniable need Ace harbored for him now and always.

"You _are_ ," Ace firmly cut in, "and I moan against your lips to show it. I press my hips to yours, already hard for you, rubbing up against you to _prove_ that you can and _do_ ruin me with just the sight of you.”

That seemed to work, stifling Deuce’s knee-jerk reaction and instead eliciting a small, hungry huff from him. Swallowing almost hurt, and Ace was momentarily breathless with need.

“How about you?” Ace pressed him, unfaltering in his momentum. “Are you hard, too?”

“Right now?” Deuce asked, Ace noting the hint of impatient bite to his tone, “or in your… _thing_.”

It was kind of cute how he refused to let himself say anything telling out loud, given how he still had to be alone. But then again, whether he believed Ace or not, Deuce was all kinds of cute anyway.

“Both,” Ace grinned, breath hitching as he thumbed through the first bead of precum to gather at his slit, “either. Whichever.”

A pause. Then—

_“Yes.”_

“Both?”

“Both.”

_Excellent._

“You want me to keep going?” Ace asked as nonchalantly as he could physically manage while he had his cock in hand, vividly imagining Deuce’s bare skin under his fingers, his tongue in his mouth, loving him, holding him, rocking up against him to moan his name over and over— “or are we getting too risky now, what with you sat there with a hard-on and all?”

“No,” Deuce said shortly, almost desperately, the accompanying rustle of clothes making it sound like he was standing up all of a sudden, “don’t stop. Keep going. I’m gonna—” He dithered, obviously weighing up the options hidden from Ace, deciding what to do. With an exasperated click of his tongue, Deuce whined, “I could get paged any second.”

“You sure could,” Ace agreed, relaxing his jaw to slip his thumb between his teeth, imagining the flick of his tongue licking over the tip to be not his, but Deuce’s, “why, what’re you thinking?”

Another brief pause.

“What’re you doing?” Was Deuce’s unexpected response, his tone very much giving Ace the impression that his answer would determine what Deuce decided to do.

“Me?” Ace’s reply came a little breathless, fingers around his cock tripping up and over his frenulum, “I’ve got my dick in hand and thinkin’ about you, of course.”

“You’ve got your—”

Deuce swallowed audibly, and, for his benefit, Ace responded with a low, enthusiastic moan.

“I’m jerking myself off,” Ace sighed into the phone, thumb continuing to play around his lips, “listening to your voice, Deu. Thinking about where we left off – where I have you up against a wall, pulling your shirt off, slipping a knee between your thighs and licking a kiss to your neck…”

The sound of a door being pulled open on the other end of the phone made Ace stop, listening intently.

“Bathroom,” Deuce hissed. “I’m going to the bathroom and—”

“Joining me in jerking off? What if you get paged?”

Deuce ignored these questions, all but confirming his intention. “Keep going,” he almost begged, “tell me more. And hurry.”

Ace grinned, hips tilting up into his touch as it grew that little bit rougher, neediness breaking through. “I wish I could see you now,” he lamented as it sounded like Deuce had made his way to the private stalls off the side of the on-call bedrooms, locking the door behind himself. “I wish I could see my perfect, gorgeous boyfriend with his scrubs round his ankles, teeth clenched, legs splayed wide open and stroking his cock as fast as he can, all while listening to me tell him how I want to make love to him.”

The clatter of Deuce’s phone being put down struck sharp in Ace’s ear; Deuce apologized, though a little breathlessly, as if from a distance.

“Deu,” Ace said when he heard Deuce’s panted breaths return, closing his eyes to the brilliantly enticing image of Deuce struggling to undo his scrubs, “baby, please, tell me what you’re doing right now.”

“There’s a—a ledge running along the wall behind the toilet and sink,” Deuce gasped, “and I’ve put the phone down on it. I’m— I-I’ve—” his voice dropped into a hushed, borderline horrified whisper breathed against the phone, sending shivers down Ace’s spine to pool like liquid metal at the base, “I’ve got my s-scrubs down around my legs—”

“Where, exactly? Around your ankles? Knees?”

“My thighs,” Deuce corrected, making Ace groan something deep and guttural.

“I _love_ your thighs,” he rasped, rolling his hips up with languid fluidity into his hand, “love biting them, marking them up, licking them…” Ace shuddered, head dropping back against the stack of cushions propping him up, rearranging the phone between his ear and the back of the couch again before restlessly running his fingers through his hair. “Describe how you’re positioned for me; I wanna be able to imagine you _exactly_ as you are right now – wanna know how to imagine you seizing up as you come.”

A shocked sort of moan shivered from Deuce, but he complied anyway. Always so good; always so _willing_ like no one and nothing Ace had known before. It lent him a unique sort of beauty, Ace thought, that good heart coupled with an unwavering sense of devotion… a sort of beauty that might tarnish under the heavy-handed care of another less inclined to help Deuce to _shine_.

The hand gripping his cock slowed, the mere fleeting thought of a different man loving Deuce one that made Ace’s blood run ice cold. A different man touching him, telling him he was _loved_ and _oh-so precious,_ stunning beyond measure and promising false dedication to a man who deserved the world and nothing less _…_ Words that belonged exclusively on the tip of Ace’s tongue alone, laved to sweat-slicked skin and the soft smile of his partner.

“I’m leaning over the sink,” Deuce’s voice cleanly cut off that nauseating tangent, bringing Ace’s attention back to where it belonged, to the only person who mattered, “with my—my chin on the ledge the phone’s on, so I can hear you without needing to hold it.”

“And?” Ace pressed, feeling himself surge with arousal at the irritated little _tsk_ from Deuce in response. “Are you touching yourself to the sound of my voice?”

“Yeah,” Deuce said, and, though he could have no true idea of the effect his words had on his partner, just that confirmation that Deuce was hard, was turned on, was stroking over himself in Ace’s absence _right this second_ had Ace groaning with wanton need. “You like that?” Deuce asked, a quiet vein of confidence beating into life through his voice.

“I _love_ that,” Ace sighed, hand speeding up over himself again, “Deu, _yes_ , that’s stupid-hot. That's—" he swallowed thickly, the moment for _him_ to be struggling for words finally upon him. " _Fuck_ ," he sighed, licking his lips, letting the bottom one drag between pinched teeth for a second, "that's not _fair,_ you getting to feel yourself... I wanna touch you so bad right now."

"And do what?" Deuce asked hurriedly, making Ace grin at the urgency there. "Ace, please, I don't have time – I shouldn't be doing this at all, this is so _wrong_ on so many levels – so please, _please, Ace—_ "

"If I were there right now," Ace snapped to Deuce’s demand at once, pulling the blanket up to his nose again, breathing in deep the illusion of Deuce against him, around him, "I'd have my mouth on your throat, fingers wrapped around your dick. I'd—" An urgent growl on the other end of the line had Ace's pulse fluttering pleasantly, his cock throbbing in his grip, his heart searing with longing. "Imagine: I kiss you like I can't breathe without you, and, as you moan my name against my lips, I slide up slick against you. I take us both in hand; you're so _wet_ against me, Deu, you're practically dripping - and we move together, grinding our hips and rocking into our hands, all hot and hard a-and— _ahh—_ "

" _Ace_ ," Deuce moaned, and _oh_ , there it was, his first _real_ upswing in pitch, that marked sign that –whatever he was doing to himself – that whatever effect Ace's words were having on him - was working, " _Ace, please,_ it's n-not enough."

He huffed, frustrated, and Ace could just picture it now: Deuce, his face screwed up in desperate concentration, cheek pressed to white tiles and legs spread where he stood, stroking his cock as fast as he could with every urgent, needy little sound that would usually flow freely onto Ace's waiting tongue now being swallowed back. Shock and horror were entwined with confused arousal, Ace knew that, the numb disbelief that he had not only allowed this, but had walked into it so willingly... it had to be sending Deuce all kinds of morally conflicting messages right now.

But needs must, and this particular need – wanting to hold one another, to love fully and wholly through flesh and sweat and stolen breaths – needed addressing _now_.

"Tell me how you're playing with yourself, baby," Ace crooned, "tell me _exactly_ what you're doing. Let me imagine you more clearly."

"What else is there to tell?" Deuce all but snapped in a hiss, breathless, frantic, a tremor creeping into his voice. "I'm trying to get off to this fantasy you're spinning, but I need _you_ , Ace, I wanna feel _you,_ wanna be in bed with you and not _here_." His breath hitched into what sounded on the verge of being a sob – the frustrated, overwhelmed brand of tears that Deuce so freely and easily brought into the relationship with them – pushing Ace into heading off Deuce's unintentional direction he was taking them in.

"That comes later," Ace purred, fighting to not simply agree with Deuce, to abandon this play and join his boyfriend in commiserating over the poor circumstances of the tired junior doctor, "on your next day off, I'll wake you up in the morning by sitting on your dick and riding you until you cry _properly_. But for now," Ace groaned in tandem with Deuce's hushed moan, clearly picturing the scene, "I want you to step up a little, okay? Let's make this ending good; let's make you see _stars._ Tell me what else you'd want me to do to you right now. Picture it again: I've got our cocks fisted together, my thigh between yours, and I’m leaving a trail of purple bruises down your neck as I contemplate fingering you too."

What he wouldn’t give to be doing that right this moment; what he wouldn’t give to have Deuce underneath him, damp with exertion, shaking with adrenaline, tight and wet around his fingers as Ace stroked his prostate into swollen sensitivity. By its own right, fingering was intensely pleasurable – feeling the minute tremors from soft insides flush to the pads of his fingertips, watching with awed delight as Deuce shivered into breathless orgasm, fists twisting into the sheets, Ace’s hair, his _own_ hair…

“ _Deuce_ ,” Ace grunted when Deuce didn’t respond quickly enough, biting his lip at the sound of his boyfriend sighing a shaky, high note, “ _I’m so close. Tell me_.”

“I— I want you— _ah_ , I can’t say it out loud, I _can’t—”_

“You can,” Ace urged, struggling to hold on, to not surrender entirely to Deuce’s whines, “ _please_ , Deu, say it for me, tell me.”

Deuce’s words came as a faint whisper, closer this time, far more intimate in their desperate need and carrying a heat that should _not_ have been possible, given his situation. “I want you to touch— _ahh—_ touch my—”

“Your?” Ace growled.

“My—” Deuce exhaled hard, the barest hint of a whine breaking through. “My nipples,” he hissed with palpable reluctance, tone thick with that mortifying horror directed inwards for allowing those words to slip out at his workplace. “I want you to… to lick them.”

“I’ve got my mouth on your right one,” Ace broke back into narration immediately, surging hot into his fist, fingers twisting into his hair with need that couldn’t be sated like this, _never_ like this. “I’m sucking on it, tonguing it just how you like.” He sighed in tandem with Deuce, willing himself not to come, not yet, _not fucking yet_. “You’re so soft between my teeth, Deu, I could bite right through your skin and devour you without a second thought.”

He had no idea if that came across as sexy or not, but the fierce, burning urge to draw every whine and keen and sob from Deuce was grating on his every last nerve. He wanted him with a passion he couldn’t name; a feeling that went above and beyond love, further than lust, more than simply missing him— and it was _painful_.

“Touch yourself, baby. Slip a hand up your shirt and play with your nipple,” Ace almost begged of him, imagining him doing so, almost seeing the calloused tips of Deuce’s fingers snaking up under the blue scrubs and pinching, rolling, twisting. “Tell me what you’re doing,” he demanded into the suffocating silence that followed, “tell me how you’re playing with yourself.”

But all that came of this was a moan that shot straight to Ace’s dick, making him sigh high and wanton into the blanket under his chin.

“I-I’m so close,” Deuce moaned, clearly doing his best to keep his voice down, “I’m—I’ve got my—I’m doing what you’re saying, Ace, I’m—” He cut himself off, but not before Ace was visited by that mental image of Deuce, scrubs round his thighs, dripping precum all over the floor, shaking so violently with deliberately suppressed _need_ to come that he was drooling to the tiles, a mess. “I-I’m gonna—”

_Not yet._

“Which way round would you want us, hm?” Ace asked, cutting off Deuce’s end most cruelly, salvaging one last thought to wring them dry. “Where do you wanna be?”

“I don’t _know,”_ Deuce shot, almost there, almost at that point where Ace could keep him teetering no longer, “I don’t _care,_ just— _either_ —”

“Then imagine your hand is me,” Ace said, eyes rolling shut, giving himself over to the pull of his words and letting it take him on its ebb and flow, “imagine you’re making love to me back here in my bed – how do I feel, Deu? How—how do I feel around you?”

“I-I don’t—” Deuce began, but _no_ , Ace was going to _make him_ visualize it fully, lose himself in the thought for just a second.

“I’m so wet and hot around you, so _tight_ ,” Ace moaned, thighs trembling uncontrollably as, in his mind’s eye, Deuce caged him, snapped his hips into him, breathed love into his soul and lit a fire deep in his heart, “I feel so _good_ around you, don’t I?”

“ _Yes—”_

Breathless.

There.

_There._

“You’re doin’ it so good, you’re makin’ me feel _amazing_.” Wet. So wet, soaking his fist, drenching the insides of his thighs, his abdomen, the blanket— “I’m gonna—gonna come because of you, you’re gonna make me come like this, buried in me, _part of_ me.”

_A part of me, always. The missing piece of the jigsaw that sat incomplete from birth. The key; the treasure; the moment of time snatched from history and pocketed in the heart of the one who would love it to death and back again._

Ah… Deuce’s poetic take on life was _really_ rubbing off on Ace at all the wrong moments.

“Part of you,” Deuce panted through gritted teeth, it sounded like, “ _Ace,_ I can’t, I’m—”

“Come for me,” Ace moaned, demanding it of him, “that’s it, like that, Deu, go on, _go on_.”

He almost missed it - almost missed the hitch, the bitten back whine that barely escaped Deuce’s throat as he came in hand, determined not to cry out like he would have done had Ace been buried inside, pulling back on damp hair to bare his throat, sinking his teeth into a pulse that _raced_ under salty skin— or the different, quieter, gentler _whimper_ that accompanied orgasm when topping, such as Ace was verbally orchestrating now.

What Ace would have given to have either one of those sounds pressed to his lips right now instead of the blanket that enveloped him in the ghost of Deuce’s hold, coming at _last_ to paint his chest and stomach sticky white.

It took a long, dizzying moment to regain his breath, panting harshly against his phone, smearing the come caught on his fist over his hip – and even longer to gain back the presence of mind to speak again.

“You okay?” Ace asked, the pleasant afterglow settling in as his heartrate slowed. “You still there, Deu?”

There was the faint sound of Deuce sighing on the other end of the line, before he clicked his tongue in apparent irritation, breathy edge entirely absent now. “I got come all over the wall,” he muttered, sounding profoundly annoyed with himself.

Ace snorted, and yawned. “And no one’s banging on the door, demanding to know why you’ve just had a really vocal jerk-off while on shift?”

“I’d be screaming right now if there was,” Deuce pointed out.

True enough.

“Listen,” Ace said, leaning into the phone a little more, post-orgasm drowsiness setting in fast and thick, “I love you, Deuce. So much. And I miss you more than I can put into words – you know I’m no good with words, not like you. But I’m gonna have to love you and leave you; you’ve been on the phone for—” he checked his phone, cold horror flooding him at the sight on his screen, “nearly twenty minutes. We’re already pushing our luck here; it’d be stupid to keep you any longer.”

“I know,” Deuce said, sounding far away again; Ace assumed he was cleaning up both himself and the wall, probably pulling that expression he did whenever he had to do something that he found repulsive, “I’ve got to get back now. Sorry it’s been so short and…” He sighed, then said in a rush, “I want to come home and kiss you. Cuddle with you. Be with you. Is that so much to ask for?”

It wasn’t. It never was. To want your boyfriend to yourself, your job be damned; to wish for nothing but his company, whether dressed or bare, under sheets or sat at the table, the couch, wherever— it was never too much to simply _want_.

And _want_ , Ace did. Back from the clutches of the nightshifts; back from snatches of time here and there during these long nights that held his boyfriend hostage. One more, then Deuce was back to day shifts again.

One more, and their nights would be together, as they should be.

And so Ace decided upon something in that moment. Deuce, when he found Ace awake and as gray-faced as he after his nightshift, would call him mad for it. But Ace wasn’t mad. Ace was going to stay up all night as well, sharing the pain in the only way he could reasonably manage. He would, he decided as he ended the call with one final grinned _I love you_ , spend the day sleeping next to Deuce, calling in sick to work and suffering Thatch, his boss, insisting that he had _known_ Ace hadn’t looked well for days, of course.

 _Of course_.

Ace would feel a whole lot better after seeing his doctor.

**Author's Note:**

> October is over and Kinktober is done! .... or is it?  
> I have several more plans that I want to write - erotic asphyxiation, mirror sex, and one other in particular - and I will still be writing these! It won't be for some time, though, as November is being dedicated to NaNoWriMo, which comprises solely of sfw pieces. So I guess look forward to more Dick in December and the New Year!!
> 
> If there's anything in particular you'd like to see, feel free to send me a message on either [Tumblr](https://chromiwrites.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Chromiwrites)! I'm always open to requests and chatting about Ace and Deuce!


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